The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [455]
Archdeacon Baldwin said: “Alfred is the son of Tom Builder, the first master at Kingsbridge; and was himself master for a while, until he was usurped by his stepbrother.”
The son of Tom Builder. This was the man who had married Aliena, William realized. But he had never consummated the marriage. William looked at him with keen interest. He would never have guessed this man to be impotent. He appeared healthy and normal. But Aliena could have a strange effect on a man.
Archdeacon Peter was saying: “Have you worked in Paris, and learned the style of Saint-Denis?”
“No—”
“But we must have a church built in the new style.”
“At present I’m working at Kingsbridge, where my brother is master. He brought the new style back from Paris and I’ve learned it from him.”
William wondered how Bishop Waleran had managed to suborn Alfred without arousing suspicion; then he remembered that the Kingsbridge sub-prior, Remigius, was a tool of Waleran. Remigius must have made the initial approach.
He remembered something else about Kingsbridge. He said to Alfred: “But your roof fell down.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Alfred said. “Prior Philip insisted on a change of design.”
“I know Philip,” said Peter, and there was venom in his voice. “A stubborn, arrogant man.”
“How do you know him?” William asked.
“Many years ago I was a monk at the cell of St-John-in-the-Forest when Philip was in charge there,” Peter said bitterly. “I criticized his slack regime, and he made me almoner to get me out of the way.” Peter’s resentment still burned hot, it was clear. No doubt that was a factor in whatever Waleran was scheming.
William said: “Be that as it may, I don’t think I want to hire a builder whose roofs fall down, no matter what excuses there might be.”
Alfred said: “I’m the only master builder in England who has worked on a new-style church, apart from Jack Jackson.”
William said: “I don’t care about Saint-Denis. I believe my poor mother’s soul will be served just as well by a traditional design.”
Bishop Waleran and Archdeacon Peter exchanged a look. After a moment, Waleran spoke to William in a lowered voice. “One day this church could be Shiring Cathedral,” he said.
Everything became clear to William. Many years ago Waleran had schemed to have the seat of the diocese moved from Kingsbridge to Shiring, but Prior Philip had outmaneuvered him. Now Waleran had revived the plan. This time, it seemed, he would go about it more deviously. Last time he had simply asked the archbishop of Canterbury to grant his request. This time he was going to start building a new church, one large and prestigious enough to be a cathedral, and at the same time develop allies such as Peter within the archbishop’s circle, before making his application. That was all very well, but William just wanted to build a church in memory of his mother, to ease her soul’s passage through the eternal fires; and he resented Waleran’s attempt to take over the scheme for his own purposes. On the other hand, it would be a tremendous boost to Shiring to have the cathedral here, and William would profit from that.
Alfred was saying: “There’s something else.”
Waleran said: “Yes?”
William looked at the two men. Alfred was bigger, stronger and younger than Waleran, and he could have knocked Waleran to the ground with one of his big hands tied behind his back; yet he was acting like the weak man in a confrontation. Years ago it would have made William angry to see a prissy white-skinned priest dominate a strong man, but he no longer got upset about such things: that was the way of the world.
Alfred lowered his voice and said: “I can bring the entire Kingsbridge work force with me.”
Suddenly his three listeners were riveted.
“Say that again,” said Waleran.
“If you hire me as master builder, I’ll bring all the craftsmen from Kingsbridge with me.”
Waleran said warily: “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”
“I don’t ask you to trust me,” Alfred said. “Give me the job conditionally. If I don’t do what I promise, I’ll